


AVON LADY

by theleaderofantifa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Brain Damage, Gen, Ghosts, Homophobia, Makeup, Mariticide, Marriage of convenience that deserved an equally convenient divorce, Monsters, Murder, My intent was to write something that seems edgy but is actually just about a PTA Mom, Not trying to be an edgelord, Original setting, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Supernatural Elements, Violence, door to door sales, multi-level marketing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaderofantifa/pseuds/theleaderofantifa
Summary: The Earth was swallowed whole. Buildings and parks, homes and offices- everything sank into the depths and was shrouded by darkness. This was the Gods' punishment for Man's hubris.---( .: Sort of like "Tomb Raider"- if Lara Croft's whole gimmick was mlm scams.)





	1. BARBS

The Earth was swallowed whole. Buildings and parks, homes and offices- everything sank into the depths of dirt and despair and was thenceforth shrouded by darkness. As destiny decreed it, the surface collapsed in on itself and sank, dragged down by the weight of the sins mankind had sown upon its lands. Structures bent and broke, and all became one conjoined mass that descended ever further into the pit. This was the Gods’ punishment for Man’s hubris.

Survivors built new buildings on top of the very shambles of already broken ones. The only place to go was up. Build and build on top of the ruins, and when those new constructions crumble, build on top of them as well. Fighting a losing battle against the pit, society was doomed to always build upward. Some said that the sunken wreckage extended down to Hell itself and that the passages below were prowled by monstrosities, haunted by the souls of all humans who had ever lived and met with a cruel fate. No one on the surface who was alive and intended to stay that way would ever go deeper than they had to. Everyone knew the fear of the darkness below, and no one would dare trespass into it. No one, save for Barbara Taylor.

Barbara made it her personal agenda to descend into the depths every day to find what she needed for her family. She crawled through narrow crevices wearing her hardiest jacket and a pair of modestly attractive boots. A headlamp attached to her floral headband and a small flashlight rubber-banded to her right wrist lit her way. The bag slung over her shoulder contained everything she would typically need on one of her spelunking adventures, everything from a pickaxe, to water supplies, to batteries and product brochures. Wizened by years of experience, Barbara was prepared materially and emotionally for most things that the pit could throw at her. She moved onward into new territory, unafraid but ever watchful of her surroundings. The fearsome rumors about the bowels of architectural rubble, as she alone knew, were not exaggerations- if anything, they were understatements.

At this moment, Barbara dislodged an old piece of drywall in front of her and the path before her widened. She wormed her way into the opening and sat back on her haunches. Raising her wrist flashlight, she began to scan the sides of the artificial cavern. In the dark recesses of the space right by the hole from which she had just emerged, something slithered silently forward. It had residual legs that were nothing more than stumps. It had no eyes; it flicked its tongue to taste the air. Barbara could just hear it and rolled to her side the very second that the creature lurched forward. Its mouth opened in five muscular parts; agape, they looked like deadly flower petals- each one lined with sharpened teeth. Barbara was quick to rise to her feet and extended a gloved hand between herself and the beast. Her right hand now grasped her pickaxe. Taking a breath to steady her nerves before continuing, she launched her counterattack,

“Hi! I’m Barb, your local Avon representative. You look like someone who spends time on their appearance- I really love that slimy complexion. Can I interest you in a product catalogue?”

The monster made a hissing screech from the corner. The light from Barb’s headlamp stayed trained on it.

“Oh honey, I know.” She allowed for a slight pause, “Perhaps I could interest you in our lipsticks? I swear, turquoise would be just your color. Really, a wonderful complement for your… I assume those are scales?”

The monster was having none of Barbara’s sales pitches and lunged forward, mouth parts wide and teeth ready to pierce. Barbara quickly sidestepped to avoid the attack, and while the beast repositioned, swiveling its head to face her, she smacked its flank solidly with her pickaxe and sent it flying towards the opposite side of the room before it could launch another assault. Now, as the creature lay on its side groaning, she took a smooth step forward and smashed her tool down on its head just as the pitiful thing began to recoil. Yellow liquid came oozing out of its unnaturally flattened head and glowed gold under Barb’s headlamp. She retreated a few steps, but kept her light ever focused on the body of the thing in front of her- and it was wise that she did, for the brain of this animal was not in its head, but in the thoracic cavity of its chest- thus it still lived. Realizing its injury and unable to properly sense its surroundings due to its smashed cranium, it rose up in a panic, and began to scurry wildly about in a mad rush. Barbara again dodged its motions, and the thing blindly rammed itself into one of the walls of the space. Here it fell and finally remained, heaving laboriously.

“Aw, I’m sorry, babe.” Barbara strode forward, completely undaunted, but still maintaining a safe distance from the animal. She was toying with the idea of putting it out of its misery but was unsure of how to most efficiently kill it. She cocked her head and clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s really nothing I can do,” she said, raising her shoulders in a shrug, “Here, love,” She slipped a slim business card with glowing text into a crease between the animal’s worthless legs, “I’m sure something else will come over soon to deal with you.”

With this, she sashayed away down the length of the cavern. Reaching the opposite wall, she groped around in the darkness to relocate one of her personal tunnels. She had a very important weekly meeting with a regular customer further below, and it would be inconsiderate to allow something as trivial as this little scuffle to make her late.


	2. BRIDGES

Barbara’s regular resided in a cozy little room with vintage Victorian furnishings. An austere grandfather clock ticked away in the corner of the room beside a cabinet of fine china. The space had modest furnishings, accounting for the small floor space, but still carried its charm and an air of wealth. Upon her arrival, Barbara took a moment to fashion the curls of her hair and shake the dust off her shoulders before politely ringing the “doorbell.” (There wasn’t actually a doorbell. Savvy Barbara had to pull out a tape-recorder with a pre-recorded bell sound.) After sounding the “doorbell,” Barb waited patiently for the lady of the house to pull aside the “door” (which was not really a door, but a moldy plywood board).

“Yes?” a voice chirped from a face peeking around the “door.”

“Avon calling! It’s me, Barbara Taylor. How are you today, Lorraine?”

“Oh, just wonderful! I was just beginning to expect you. You’re always so timely. Won’t you come in, Mrs. Taylor?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Bridges.”

Lorraine Bridges ushered Barbara in, returned the “door” to its position, and concealed it with a curtain of lace drapery.

“Would you like some tea, darling? I just put on a kettle of Earl Grey for Charlie and myself.”

Charles Bridges sat hunched over in an armchair across the room, his eyes wide and unblinking like an owl. He was very preoccupied by staring at the floor, making soft and ceaseless groaning noises as he did so.

“No thank you, Madam, I’m afraid I prefer coffee.” Barbara replied- aware that Mrs. Bridges’ “tea” was only tepid water flavored with paint chips or crushed insects.

“Oh, of course, dear. Forgive me if I forgot.” Mrs. Bridges went back into the humble kitchen area of her apartment and returned with a kettle to pour tea for herself and her husband. Barbara pulled a thermos of coffee out of her backpack and poured her own cup.

Holding an immaculate teacup and saucer decorated with delicate blue flowers and brilliant gold accents, Lorraine sat down and made small talk with Barbara, “Tell me dear, how has your day been?”

“Oh, it’s been the usual. You know how it is, I have to do my rounds and then meet up with the kids- talking with you is actually such a refreshing break.” Barbara smiled and took a sip of her coffee.

“Oh! Yes, your kids. I always forget that you’re a _mother_, dear. You’re still so young and active, and I’ve never met your children. You really should bring them around sometime. I’d love to entertain them. -Or you could at least bring some photographs, you know.”

Barbara continued to smile. “I’ll have to consider that, Lorraine. I’m sure the kids would love to meet you too, but it’s such a long walk to get here. I’ll have to consider it another time.” Barbara did in fact have some pictures of her sons in her purse, but she thought it wise to keep them a secret from Mrs. Bridges.

“You know, I always wanted to have children myself, but-” She cast a cold gaze toward Charles, “-well, what can you do?” She refocused on Barbara and gave a cheery smile.

Barbara returned the false smile, eager to change the subject, “Yes, well, Lorraine, I’ve just got to tell you about the new line of powders that came out- they have just your color! I swear, I saw it, and I thought of you immediately.”

“Oh, darling! Did you now? It’s so nice to know that someone’s been thinking of you. -Well, I suppose I really must see it.” Mrs. Bridges leaned forward, and Barbara was relieved to be back on the more comfortable business topic of make-up.

Mrs. Bridges always wore a full face of make-up with foundation that was a very unique color of pure, powder white, and at her age, she absolutely refused to consider any other options.

“I just don’t understand why the color has gone out of style. Bright, ivory skin has _always_ been in fashion for women. Just look at all of our documented art history.”

“Yes, well, Mrs. Bridges, the natural look is very in right now- and it’s also just a bit unreasonable for dark-skinned women to have no choice but to use the same pigments as white women, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t mind there being a little variety, darling. No, no. That’s fine. But nowadays, even when I find the right color, it just doesn’t feel as though it stays on my skin the same way.”

“Well, Mrs. Bridges, the manufacturers also don’t use talcum or lead in their white paint anymore.”

“Yes, I know. You told me something about it being harmful to the brain? That is something! It really mustn’t be too bad though; my grandmother frequently used a special set of dinnerware that was completely made of lead- and I admit, my grandmother was something of a ditz- you could never teach her anything- but really, she got by well enough.” Mrs. Bridges smoothed out the top portion of her billowing skirt with her left hand, still holding her tea with her right.

Barbara shot a furtive glance at the grandfather clock beside Charles across the room. The clock hands were reaching threateningly toward the Roman numeral, IV. 

“Anyways dear, you know I’ll take it. I’m already out of last week’s supply. I honestly don’t know how I manage to go through it so quickly. What’s your preferred payment this time, Barbara sweet?”

Barbara reached out and patted the air above the flickering outline of Lorraine Bridges’ gloved hand. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the usual something from the box.”

Lorraine’s fingers, lighter than air, reached out and endearingly folded over Barbara’s. “As you wish- although I’ll never understand why you’re so fixated on those confections. Honestly! The ones you take I only bought for a handful of cents each! But you do whatever suits you, darling. Really, I’m glad for your company.” The two women sat hand in hand for a second more, when suddenly the clock announced in its solemn voice that it was 4 o’clock.

Barbara paled.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mrs. Bridges glanced over her shoulder, “Now it actually is tea time. I really must urge you to stay now, Barbara. I have some tarts in the kitchen pantry that I can bring out for you. Won’t you linger for an hour more?”

“Oh, Lorraine, you’re such a charmer, but I really must be going.” Barbara had already hastily capped her thermos and was rising from her seat.

“No, no, dear. You stay there. It’s alright if you have another engagement. I’ll be right back to bring you a couple for the road.” Mrs. Bridges rose gracefully and headed toward her kitchen.

Barbara sat back down and patiently held her hands in her lap, waiting until she was out of Lorraine’s sight.

“Ah, it’s tea time,” Charles, suddenly animated, readjusted his spectacles and shifted in his chair, resting his right foot over his knee. “Fancy that.” He returned his gaze to a half-read magazine folded in his left hand and used his right armrest to lean on his palm.

“Oh,” Barbara bit her lip, “I really wish I wasn’t around to see this.” She quickly rose from her seat and darted across the den to the bookshelf behind Charles. Withdrawing to the far corner of the room, she crouched next to a handsome wooden chest that was bolted shut with a simple, rusted lock.

“Charles?” Lorraine called from the kitchen. “Are you out there in your chair?”

“Yes, dear. What is it?” Charles couldn’t be bothered to look up from his reading.

“Darling, I really must talk to you about something.” Lorraine came back into the room with a tray of tarts and tea cakes. They smelled freshly baked, and Lorraine placed them down on the living room’s central table. Everything about the scene from where Barbara crouched looked brighter than life and unnaturally vibrant. It was like living in a scene from an old, technicolor movie.

Charles gave a charming but mirthless smile. “These look wonderful darling, you’ll have to tell me what baker you went to.” He reached out and gingerly handled a cherry tart, but didn’t eat it. “What is it we need to talk about?” He turned down the dial on his smile’s intensity.

“Feel free to eat your tart, darling.” Lorraine sat down sideways on the couch to face her husband, “Sweetheart, I need to ask you some questions.”

“What is it, dear?” Charles spoke and bit into the tart, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Lorraine as he resettled himself in his chair.

Lorraine took a pained breath, “Charles, are you unhappy with me?”

Charles jerked his head up, “Heavens, no! Where would you get an idea like that? We get along perfectly fine, don’t we?”

“You’re cold, Charles.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t value you.”

“You won’t touch me.”

Charles paused for a beat, “I never knew you considered physical contact that important. I’ve always assumed we both needed our space…”

“You don’t sleep with me, Charles.” Lorraine rose abruptly and ungracefully, “Don’t play coy with me- I know there’s someone else.” Hot tears stung her eyes, “And I’ve been nothing but quiet and loving to you- the perfect wife! Never in your face, always giving you space, respecting our boundaries. I didn’t even complain when you moved us out here to this ugly city apartment! -And yet you! Have the dashed audacity! To invite another to profane the one arena that you swore before God would be exclusively mine! If you aren’t interested in me, you should say it to my face, divorce me and get it over with-! This is torture! You shut me out! You’re frigid; you neglect me. You shut me out, and then you have the audacity to expect me to continue being your loving wife and put on a show for guests as if nothing ever happened!” Lorraine’s face fell into her hands.

“Lorraine! What evidence do you have that I’m in an affair?”

“What evidence? I don’t need to see the culprit to know the crime. You’re always going out. You spend nights away from home without contacting me and expect me to believe they’re all for business- how much of a fool do you think I am? I see the receipts that run through this household, even if I don’t handle the money. I can follow the breadcrumbs the two of you have left behind.”

Charles sat quietly, then looked directly into Lorraine’s eyes as she loomed above him and spoke sincerely, “Lorraine, I can tell you honestly that I have never had an affair with a woman other than you.”

Lorraine’s face became a stone, and she spoke with a chilling lack of affect, “I know.”

Confusion flashed across Charles’ face, then realization came over him slowly, chilling his bones and slackening his jaw. His eyes were fixated on Lorraine, but he kept his silence, unable to think of anything to say. Behind the scene, Barbara stealthily crept to unlock the chest she was kneeling beside.

Lorraine held the floor, towering over her husband’s seat. “I’ve been wondering how, in your mind, your perverted behavior seemed somehow excusable.” Lorraine folded her hands together. “Is it because you could look at me like you did just now and say I was the only woman? Do you think that excuses it? You don’t think that makes it vastly worse? My husband isn’t only a debased cad; he’s a criminal and a sexual deviant who belongs on some doctor’s couch! Deceiver! Am I supposed to just sit back, and tolerate that? Pretend that I don’t see it? -No.” Lorraine spoke as if she was justifying herself, “No, I have every right to do something. It’s in my line of duty.”

Barbara fumbled as discretely as she could with the chest’s lock- but the aged metalwork stubbornly held out against her prying hands. She would have to use one of her tools. When Mrs. Bridges was this worked up, it was no use to ask her for the key.

Charles sluggishly raised a hand to his head and rubbed his temples, “Lorraine, I don’t know what you expect me to say to all that.” He furrowed his brow as if something felt uncomfortable, “I’m trying to understand you. What part of our relationship has been unsatisfactory? What is it that you want, Lorraine?”

“I want what every woman I know wants.” Lorraine knelt down and braced her hands on the arm of Charles’ chair, “I want a marriage with mutual affection. I want to have an adorable little family like my girlhood friends have all had. Can’t you imagine that? If I had a little boy or girl- if we all went around town together and were a matching set? I think about how grand that would be, to have someone small pull on my skirt and pick me daisies and to be there whenever they smiled or cried or did something minor but momentous. I always wanted to be a mother, at least- I wanted to see myself reflected in a growing human being and feel a sense of purpose in the fact that I was responsible for them. -But you never even gave me that. I’ve spent years trying to understand what was wrong with me, and it’s only recently that I’ve finally landed on the conclusion.” Barbara’s tone twisted, “-Everything that’s wrong here is wrong with _you_.”

Barbara pulled out a trusted pair of clippers. The handles weren’t long enough to qualify them as bolt-cutters, but the mouth of the blades opened wide, and the loop of the lock was easily trapped in their maw. From this position encircling the narrow strip of slightly rusted metal, Barbara reckoned that her clippers might just be strong enough to snap the lock off.

“I don’t want some dashed kid. If we had one, that would be for you- not me.”

Lorraine clutched the corner of the armchair and furrowed her brows emotionally.

“You’ve known as well as I have from the moment we were engaged that our marriage was only ever a political maneuver. I live comfortably and receive a fair inheritance- you were about to lose your comfortable high-class lifestyle if your father’s health was to decline. To avoid being cut off myself, I needed to obey my family’s wishes and arrange a marriage. Our interests coincided. Lorraine, all this has ever been is a marriage of convenience.” Charles looked across at Lorraine sluggishly, with his hand still pressed to his forehead. “I refuse to sell myself to a life of misery with you. I always would have been happier living somewhere else and with someone else, but we both need each other for appearances. I know you’d be held to a different standard than I for having an affair, but if you were having escapades- I wouldn’t stop you. I know I don’t provide what you want, and I wouldn’t be so cruel as to deter you if you were to try to find satisfaction somewhere else. I don’t own you, Lorraine… nor do I want to.”

“Then just say it. I’ll do what I can for you, if you’ll just tell me the truth and what I need to hear. Tell me we’ve fallen apart, but that you can get help, and we can fix this. Sweetheart, don’t you love me? Didn’t you ever love me?”

Charles looked up at Lorraine, and for a long moment the two stared into each other’s eyes, trying to discern what their marital partner was thinking. Charles finally broke off contact. He closed his eyes, then he looked straight up again at his dejected wife who waited in anxious anticipation.

“No. I never loved you.”

A dark cloud fell over Lorraine’s face.

Barbara was hurriedly fiddling with the chest’s old, rusted lock- struggling to open it without calling attention to herself. If she could have gotten a good grip and let her clippers take a couple solid bites, then the lock would surely have burst open. But the lock stood stubborn, Barbara’s treasure remained locked away.

Barb looked over her shoulder worriedly as she noticed the apartment’s stagnant air take on a sudden chill. Things were not going to end well if she couldn’t get out soon. She had seen this skit re-enacted by Lorraine and Charles before, and she had no desire to stick around for the conclusion.

“SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-” the ominous silence was abruptly broken by a tea kettle’s distressed whistle.

“Lorraine, please don’t blame yourself…” Charles began as Lorraine strode toward the kitchen, but he allowed his sentence to trail off, staring at his own hand pinned to the armrest of the chair. “Lorraine-” Charles could hear aggravated drawers sliding and metal implements clacking in the kitchen, “Lorraine, I don’t think I can stand.”

A couple of soft clanks came from the kitchen, but Lorraine didn’t respond.

Charles couldn’t raise his hand from the armrest. His whole body felt heavy, as if burdened by sleep. Even his head seemed to fall outside of his muscle control; it wanted to loll off to the side of his shoulder, and it took great concentration to keep himself mostly upright against the back of his armchair.

Lorraine reentered the main room. Her eyes were vacant. Lorraine set her metal dining tray down on the front table and moved to Charles’ side. “Does it hurt?” She touched Charles’ right hand tentatively.

“No, that’s just it, I can hardly feel a thing-”

“…Does it hurt?” Lorraine revealed a potato peeler into her fist and swiftly swung it down, piercing through Charles’ hand.

“AH!” Charles cried out- but there was no pain. He sat in silent shock, watching the blood well up from beneath the potato peeler impaling his hand. His breathing became ragged and his heart rate soared at the sight, but even as the cascade of red began to puddle on the floral carpet, he couldn’t feel a thing.

“I don’t want to hurt you…” Lorraine spoke softly. In his shock, Charles could barely hear her. “…But, you’re sick. It’s my duty to look after you, in sickness and in health… A good husband doesn’t cheat on his wife, a good man isn’t perverted like you- but no, even now, you’re not bad… You’re just sick. It’s a psychological condition. They’ve done research on that sort of thing. I’m an excellent wife. I’ll be there for you… I can fix you. -No, it’s my  _ duty _ as a wife to help you.” She spoke to strengthen her own resolve, “Yes,  _ I must do this. _ ”

“Lorraine, I don’t know what you’re planning, but please-”

“ _ BE QUIET, CHARLES _ .” Her face was melting. The powders and creams that covered her complexion were caking and congealing, joining and crawling down her cheeks in languid drops. Devoid of paint, her eyes were hollow as a skull’s. Her cheekbones stood out gaunt- and in the dim light, her exposed skin was as blue as in death, softly glowing. “You will be a gentleman who cooperates and abides by the rules of polite society, who stays with his wife, sits at his armchair, and behaves complacently. Now really,” she picked up a two-hand operated corkscrew from her dining tray, “just bear with this, and I swear nothing will ever hurt you again.”

“…_What in_ _Hell_, _Lorraine?!_” Charles feebly tried to move away as his wife approached, tossing his head to the side, but his wife stood behind the chair and simply placed her left hand across his forehead to push his skull back toward the center of her chest.

“Now,” Lorraine grunted as she tied a napkin around Charles’ neck and fastened it around the chair to a loop at the front of her waist, “just hold still.” Forcefully, she rammed the tip of the corkscrew into the flesh atop Charles head and, having wedged it in as best she could, began furiously drilling.

At this instant, Barbara finally managed to wrench the weakened lock open, pressing her clippers at an angle across the chest to pry apart the loop of the lock at a place where her tools had already hacked through the body of the metal. Enthusiastically, she pulled up on the lid of the chest. Here was the bounty which Lorraine used to pay for her beauty services. Barbara reached down tentatively and pulled out an aged dime-store paperback novel. To Lorraine, the pages of her book collection, although sentimentally valuable, were all full of highly trivial material. But for Barbara, the chest was a reputable treasure trove. Back home, any form of written material was hard to come by. Academics, collectors, and certain parents determined to ensure that their children knew how to read would all pay handsomely for relics like these. Barbara rifled through the chest, but she knew better than to be greedy. Lorraine had better treasures than these lying around, if she was just patient enough to wait until the older woman offered them for trade. Barbara decided that three books was sufficient payment for her services that week, and placed them gingerly in her spelunking pack after protecting them with a coat of Reynold’s wrap and bundling them in a paper bag. She had decided to take “Only a Mechanic’s Daughter,” “Death at the Wheel,” and “Helen Fleetwood.” (She tastefully left a book titled “The Rejected Wife” as it was.)

Barbara now wanted only to hasten to her exit. She began to creep across the room, keeping to the walls and staying behind Lorraine’s back. She hardly worried during all this time about being overheard by the lady of the house. The caterwauling from the armchair was loud enough to distract anyone.

“sstopSTOP! STOP! ugGh..  _ LORRAINE _ ! Please! -SOMEBODY HELP! STOP-!”

“Tut. Tut… If only I’d thought to shave… All this hair gets in the way…”

Barbara averted her eyes from the sight of the married couple as she scurried back to the front “door.” She threw aside the lace curtains and began to pry off the moldy boards. Lorraine stopped drilling, poking at the wound on Charles’ head with her nail before plucking a thin funnel from her tray and securely wedging it into the hole she had painstakingly drilled through Charles’ skull.

“Lorraine- Listen to me. Lorraine, I never wanted for us to hurt each other.” His voice was heavy and pained. Tears rolled down Charles’ face. “Please reconsider. I want to work things out. I can be a better man for you. I know there are things I can’t change, and things I can’t make up for to you- but please, Lorraine!  _ I’m begging you!” _

Lorraine raised her steaming tea kettle over the funnel, and Barbara didn’t stick around to watch her pour boiling water on Charles’ brain.


	3. CANTOR

Barbara found herself bogged down in a black marsh. Since her perilous experience with two unhappily married poltergeists, she had chosen to follow an unfamiliar scent, and she had been rewarded by the discovery of a vast, high-ceilinged cavern. Water dripped from the tips of bulbous stalactites, puddling on the floor to make the two and a half feet or so of standing water that Barbara was wading in. To add to the scene’s peculiarity, there appeared to be some source of heat beneath the cavern floor. The air Barbara breathed was rank and humid. Somewhere in this cavern was a dim light source; a thin cloud of incandescent, yellow-green light covered the scene, illuminating particles in the air and the tips of some mysterious plants clustered in the murky water. Barbara turned off her wrist-light. The source of this wafting light seemed to be on the far end of the cavern, and she began to walk warily towards it.

Sinking her boots a few steps deeper into the muddy marsh, Barbara bent to observe the heads of the strange plants that grew thickly about the cave. They were reed-like, and although Barbara had never seen any outside of illustrations before, she felt inclined to call them “cat-tails.” These mysterious aquatic plants soared from the ground up to about the height of her chest, and Barbara began to wonder how she would be able to navigate through them. Beginning to carve her path, Barbara pushed aside an armful of reeds, and at this moment, she noticed a low rumbling reverberating off the walls of the cavern. It was like a deep cat’s purr– and then came the singing. 

_ Oh come, wordsmith, to me. _

_ Your ears do not deceive _

_ A quest befitting ye _

_ Awaits you at my tree. _

_ _

_ Come and test your power. _

_ Come now if you have valor. _

_ _

_ Solve this puzzle with ease. _

_ By Gods’ rules, I decree: _

_ Of those who see this tree _

_ Only the clever will leave. _

_ _

A shrewd and cautious adventurer would be wise to retreat from such a foreboding piece of poetry. Barbara however took the echoing melody as a challenge. After all, where there was a voice, there could be a potential customer.

Gas pockets occasionally rose from the depressions of her footprints as she plodded through the marsh. Eager bubbles popped upon reaching the surface of the muck, and each emitted a  _ hissss _ as it released smoky contents into the air. The grasses sputtered and choked, bobbing their heads as if wheezing for breath. Barb hacked through them with her multi-purpose pickaxe. Barbara swiftly surmounted the army of reeds, and when the last one bowed its head, she stepped into a clearing where she saw the source of the song. 

Before her was a clearing in the reeds where a supernatural tree stood on a small hill above the waterline. And below the tree, sprawled languidly on a flat stone, was the mysterious vocalist. Barbara wiped the beads of sweat from her head. The singer was unlike anything she had ever seen. A wicked tongue lolled beneath canines as large as children’s fingers. Curled claws flexed against the rock. And gold, slitted eyes searched for prey... Bold, shimmering eyes that betrayed cunning intent.

The awe-inspiring cantor was a bonafide beast of legend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an incomplete chapter. Obviously, it was my intention to finish it, and I know how the story should go, but I simply never went ahead and did it. For now, it ends here. I haven't touched this story in honestly well over a year. This was something I just started writing while I was a freshman in undergrad and never existed for a particular purpose or to please anyone except for myself. I feel disappointment leaving it as it is, but I feel I might as well post this, the incomplete second-to-last chapter I had planned. I might as well release my full work, even if unfinished.  
Perhaps one day I'll come back to this... but probably not.


End file.
